


Sister Soul

by hollowbirds (torturousthings)



Series: Everything Seems To Be Estranged [3]
Category: Panic! at the Disco, The Brobecks
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-29
Updated: 2017-06-29
Packaged: 2018-11-21 03:43:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11349171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/torturousthings/pseuds/hollowbirds
Summary: We’re soulmates.Soulmate is such a big word. Someone to keep company to your mind, to be the parallel to your thoughts and desires. Someone to make everything easier. That’s what they say.or, Dallon's ficlet.





	Sister Soul

**Author's Note:**

> another ficlet from [Everything Seems To Be Estranged](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10788774) this time from dallon's point of view!
> 
> song for this ficlet: [Heartbreak Or Death](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XTfu93Rm-gU) by The Brobecks

 

I can feel her breathing. 

 

I can picture the slow rise-and-fall motion of her chest, the dark hair splayed on the pillow like swirls of ink. I can see the faint flutter of her eyelids when she dreams of things I don’t know, can hear the soft sighs she lets out from time to time, as if the world isn’t good enough for her. She’s asleep next to me, and I know every freckle on her face, every inch of her body, explored and yet so new every time. I see her with my eyes closed, a beautiful, bright eyed girl with crimson identical to mine running through her veins. 

 

Identical to so many people on this earth. 

 

We’re soulmates. 

 

Soulmate is such a big word. Someone to keep company to your mind, to be the parallel to your thoughts and desires. Someone to make everything easier. That’s what they say. 

 

The French say something similar, I think. _Âme sœur_. 

 

Sister soul. 

 

I can’t really decide which fits better to what Breezy and I have. I open my eyes and stare at the white ceiling as she stirs, pressing the side of her face to my shoulder. We fit, like the puzzle pieces someone designed usso meticulously to be. She’s warm. She smells like home. 

 

I try not to think of what brought us here. Lying on a queen-sized bed that’s too small for me and a perfect fit for her. 

 

I try not to think of her tears earlier today or of the vase I threatened to shatter. Try not to think of how we might not be perfect. Because that’s what we should be. 

 

It’s not that I don’t love her; I do. Our love is eternal, it’s a flame that will never burn out, a passion that’ll carry on even when our bodies are long gone; maybe we can last beyond our time. Maybe our souls can. 

 

But I thought it’d be perfect. That she’d always agree with me, or that I’d always agree with her. That smiles and tenderness would be our every day, that I could get lost in her eyes forever and forget about the world around us. 

 

But somehow the world keeps spinning even if we’ve known each other for over ten years now. Been at each other’s side through sorrow and grief, through all kinds of weather that is sometimes too painful to talk about. She’s lost her mother since then, and I remember holding her in my arms, her shaking shoulders racked by sobs that never seemed to stop. I didn’t know what to say to her tears. I still don’t. I just held her back then. 

 

What killed me today was that I couldn’t. For the first time, my embrace wasn’t wanted, my kisses pushed away, and nothing I did could make her better, because _I_ was the reason for the tears in her eyes, the red on her cheeks. Today, I realised that we’re not perfect. 

 

And it hits me. 

 

We didn’t get to choose. We were destined to be together, but we didn’t choose each other. I’m not sure if that matters. Probably not, but the thought keeps spinning in my head. She didn’t choose me, and I didn’t choose her. We’re bound. We’re in love, because the universe decided so. 

 

My stomach twists violently and I feel slightly nauseous, so I try to steady my breathing. In. Out. In. Out. Matching my breaths with hers, slow and regular. 

 

I catch myself thinking of how it’d be like to be an Ashen, and the nausea gets worse. I just imagined Breezy dying, her breaths getting shorter and sparser until they stop altogether, her eyes wide in confusion as life leaves her and—

 

I disgust myself. 

 

I sit up and get out of bed, and she rolls over, her back to me, bare and smooth, the few beauty marks barely visible, but I know they’re there. I used to trace them with my finger every night. Linked up, they make a shape that looks like a star. 

 

She doesn’t wake up. I make my way to the bathroom and strip to take a shower, to try to wash the sick and twisted thoughts away, but they keep nagging at me, even beneath the scorching water. They don’t drift away with the steam, don’t go down the drain even if I’m willing them to. I turn my face to the shower head, feel the burn of the water on my cheeks, letting my arms hang at my sides. I don’t think. 

 

It’s easier not to think.

 

I wrap a towel around my waist as I get out from under the water, walk out of the bathroom and back into our bedroom, where she’s still asleep. I lean over her and watch her, her face stripped of any of the pain that was there earlier, long, dark eyelashes brushing the skin, lips parted half an inch. Her breathing is silent. 

 

She’s beautiful. 

 

I lower my head and kiss her softly on the cheek, and she stirs again, opens her eyes slightly as a smile spreads on her face. 

 

“Hey, sleepyhead,” I whisper, and she lets out a small giggle that reminds me of when we first met and I used to tease her about the long hours she spent asleep. 

 

“Hey,” she says, and looks at me. My hair’s dripping onto her face and she wipes the droplets away with the sheets. “You’re drenching everything, you know that?” she teases and pushes me back gently. 

 

“Yeah,” I say, and kiss her before she can answer. It’s soft, and my lips are still warm from the shower, though she probably doesn’t notice that. She lets out a whimper of protestation but I lock my arms behind her back and draw her to me, keeping her there, still kissing. Her hands are holding the bedsheets to her chest, and I suddenly remember that she isn’t wearing anything. My hair is still drenched, and she squeals as water drips onto her face, her temples, running down her cheeks. 

 

“I love you,” I say, between two kisses, half because I mean it, half because I need to remember why she matters so much. I know she does, but I’m not sure why. She’s supposed to be the centre of my world, half the reason why I’m alive, and yet today was enough to make me wonder what kind of Ashen I’d be. 

 

One water drop clings onto her cheekbone, making it look like a tear. I wipe it away with my thumb. 

 

I don’t want to think of what would happen if we fight again. 

 

“I love you, too,” she says, and I push the thought of Ashens out of my head. This is what I’m destined for. This is what I want. 

 

 

Her. 

 

 

 

For ever. 


End file.
